Post-it Notes
by singingsin
Summary: Andrea finally got back home. But now thats shes there, she wont admit to the reasoning behind her return. for promt #2 on my list, because i was feeling a bit depressed and this came out. Strong DarylxAndrea implications.


Andrea takes the first few steps across the threshold tentatively.

She looks over her shoulder at Daryl, whose bow is drawn, ready to take out any threat that should pop up. She honestly doubts that anyone has been in here, seeing as she had to actually unlock the door with her key and the perimeter seemed untouched. But if there's one thing the apocalypse has taught her, it's that you can never be too careful, too cautious or too guarded. She steps into the hallway further, and Daryl closes the door behind him gently. They check the house quickly, and upon finding nothing Andrea lets herself breathe a little easier.

She can't believe that she finally got here, that she finally got home.

After a year of simply surviving and another handful of months travelling by any means possible, she's finally made it home to Florida. Her condo is eerily untouched, everything the way she left it all those months ago when she and Amy set off on their road trip. To think that something as harmless as getting Amy back to college would be the start of something so colossal.

When she's sure that there's absolutely no threat, she lets her guard down just a bit and shows Daryl around. Its odd, having him here, in this place, but she's glad too. Glad that he chose to come with her after Merle. Glad that the group didn't raise too much of a fuss. Glad that he'd been there at the last second when she thought for sure that she was going to die, alone, handcuffed to a chair. Daryl had saved her, just like he had always promised. He hadn't ever actually said that out loud, that he'd keep her safe, but in the earlier days, when they had started to become friends, it was always there. In his gaze, in his stance. He had said it to everyone, silently with his actions, but only a few of them could actually see it. Rick. Glenn. Carol. Her.

And after Woodbury, that promise had grown into something else, something more, and Andrea was grateful for that too. Third time is the charm, she always thinks when she looks at him. Shane never would have done this for her. Phillip either. But Daryl, he hardly said a word other than to ask her if she was really sure. He hadn't argued in the slightest, claiming that wherever she was going, he was going too. He had looked incredibly uncomfortable when the trees had started to thin out, and the grass and bushes has turned into sand. But he was still here with her. And that meant everything, especially in the world as it was now.

She lightly touches things as she goes through the house, whisper soft memories flooding her brain. She almost feels like she shouldn't be here, even if it is her home. Like she's trespassing on her past, as ridiculous as that sounds. The mirror in the hallway is an antique from her grandmother, who brought it with her from the old country, Russia. She used to make the most amazing baked apples, sour and stuffed with sweetened raisins and cinnamon. The coffee cups in the sink are from a family gathering a few years ago, painted and glazed with her in mind. A home warming gift, each of them painted with loving words and pictures from aunts and uncles, cousins and her parents and Amy. The pictures on the wall in the living room, framing moments of skilfully captured life. Her parents holding hands, her and her father fishing, a family portrait of her graduation from law school. Amy and her hugging and laughing, the wind whipping their hair into a tangled blonde mess.

Daryl touches her lightly on the shoulder, and she's startled back into reality. Its growing dark outside, and her feet ache.

" Been standin there fer hours," he says softly, and he thumbs away the tears that she didn't realize she'd been crying, off her cheek. "Didn't wanna disturb ya, so just went round and secured everything.." he trails off and she sighs. He could've told her. She would've helped.

"I'm just…" she struggles to find the right words, but how can she explain it to him? Even if she could explain, this remorsefully large measure of sadness at the loss of her former life, would he ever truly understand? He didn't come from a large, loving family. All he'd had was a drunken father and Merle. Not much when compared against her family. But that's not entirely fair to him either. She leaves the sentence unfinished, and just hugs him to her instead. He's her only family now. He stiffens against her touch, flinches, still not used to contact of this nature, but she's patient and after a moment he relaxes and his arms wrap around her.

"Can we just go to bed?" she says, her face pressed into his neck, and he half grunts out a 'sure', and she takes the lead. Up the steps and past the guest bathroom, toward her room, there at the end of the hall. She doesn't acknowledge the door in-between the bathroom and her destination, pretends that it isn't there, although Daryl slows just a bit, and she knows he's curious, or at least wary, because she already asked him not to go in there. She prays that he doesn't ask her why. She doesn't want to try to explain that door. But he doesn't stop and when she shuts her bedroom door behind them, he doesn't say anything. He just locks the door and shoves a dresser in front of it, mumbling about feeling really weird in a proper house after all this time on the road.

It takes her a long time to get to sleep that night, even with Daryl pressed up against her, keeping her warm and safe. She doesn't really know why she wanted to come home. There's not really anything here for her anymore, not now that there's no such thing as bills or work or weekends or anything like that. She just felt this pull, this urge to return here, to see what had become of it. And she's not sure that they'll stay, or if they even should. But where else is there? Daryl's home is back in Georgia, and he didn't seem overly interested in going there.

"Just a whole bunch of empty beer bottles and bad memories." he had shrugged, and she had gotten the impression that he was actually fearful of returning there, underneath all the feigned indifference. Atlanta was overrun, and the prison wasn't safe anymore, not with the Governor running around, toting a firearm and hell-bent on revenge. Woodbury wasn't even an option. So then where? Which had brought them here, over an entire two states to Miami. But now that they're here, she feels no sense of purpose. And without that, she knows that soon both of them will grow restless. And restlessness can lead to lots of trouble.

They spend the next day scavenging for supplies. Wood to board up the windows and doors, and heavy fabric to block light from leaking out of the house. Florida doesn't look nearly as bad as Atlanta, and she guesses that a lot of the population either took off inland towards the comfort of bigger, more prepared states, like Texas (lots of guns in Texas and it has a lot more of a military presence than most of the neighbouring states) or the they tried to get on a boat and head out to sea or find an island. She and Daryl see a lot of boats halfway out of the harbour, the dead milling around on the deck. She pities those who suffered that fate, stranded too far from shore to swim back, trapped on a boat full of walkers. She's glad she wasn't around the hear the screaming and crying echoing on the beach.

Although Miami is also a capital city, the number of walkers here is nothing compared to the hoards in Atlanta. She thinks that the climate is the main reason for that. Its muggy and damp in Miami, humid like Atlanta just isn't due to the ocean. It doesn't make for as good an environment for rotting flesh. The zombies here are in a much further state of decay than in Georgia, the smell atrocious. Black gore oozes like pus on every corpse she sees, and she has to hold back the constant urge to vomit when she sees them. How Daryl can manage is beyond her, but he seems unaffected, staying as cool as you can imagine, a small smirk on his face every time he hears her gag. Only he would find that amusing. On the bright side, they seem to be losing mobility quicker here, most of them dragging themselves along the ground, the sun, humidity and salt breaking the down faster.

The stores are likewise, in better shape here than the ones in Atlanta. The larger ones are picked clean, but the little corner shops, the Mom & Pop convince stores, are still intact. They make quick work of several of them, quietly dispatching any nearby walkers and loading all the useable items into a small hybrid car that they took from one of her neighbours driveways. She had always liked the Dawson's, a couple still stuck in the 60's, all peace and love and take care of the planet! Their house appeared as empty and untouched as hers had been, but she suspects that they didn't fare as well as she did. They were hippies at heart, kind and gentle. Older too. She can't imagine either of them smashing in a walkers head, even if it was in self-defence. She's grateful that they trusted her with the knowledge of where they put their spare keys though, buried in a zip lock bag, in the potted fern on the front porch. She resisted the urge to peek in the windows of the house to see if she could spot any clues to what happened to them, preferring to hope that they had a stroke of good luck. Right now, their car is a godsend. The little eco-friendly hybrid has enough space for two, plus a large load of supplies, and it runs on a mixture of watered down gasoline. On top of all of that, it's nearly silent compared to other cars. It doesn't go as fast, but they hardly need to worry about that here, as even the faster walker is so slow she could out walk them at a leisurely pace.

It takes Daryl three days before he asks her what they're waiting for.

She knew it would happen, could see it. The itch to get away. Daryl didn't like staying in one place for too long. The only reason he'd stayed in the prison so long was because he had no other destination to go to. On the road he was like that too, hardly settling in one spot for more than a night, even when they'd both been completely exhausted. One night she'd begged him stop so they could both get some solid sleep. They were both barely standing, tripping over tree roots and forest debris, making too much noise, and she just couldn't do it anymore. It had taken up all the rest of her energy to make him make him even consider. In the end, he'd caved and they'd found a big tree and climbed up into the branches, Daryl tying them into place with some sturdy rope. They slept for an entire day almost, waking up as the sun was going down the next day. They had spent the rest of the night up there, sharing what food they had, and dozing. Daryl hadn't let it get that bad since then, making sure they both rested enough, but he still didn't like lingering in one place too long. This extended stay was probably killing him, and she's surprised it took him this much time to say anything.

"What're we doin Andrea," he'd said softly over a breakfast of tinned peaches.

She didn't have answer, and they both knew it. Well, not that wasn't quite right. She did have one, but it was hardly acceptable. She felt it was foolish, like it was a waste of his time. She'd dragged him across a large distance, risking his life to get to a place she had barely given any thought to in the last year and for what? She looks at him, across the table, and flinches a bit. He's staring at her. Those eyes… they can be so expressive. Alert and wary while they're on the move. Deadly and focused when he's taking down a squirrel or a walker. Calm and content when they're lying together in bed. She's come to be quite fond of his eyes, but right now she feels like she's being skewered, pinned to the spot. He's not going to let this go, she knows that, so she may as well tell him.

"Amy," she whispers, and looks down at her lap.

"Amy what?" he asks after a moment of awkward silence, and she can't bring herself to look at him. She's afraid he'll hate her, leave her here alone and go back to Georgia. Part of her immediately rebukes her for this thought pattern, but a persistent little voice jeers at her that she would deserve it, putting him at risk for a dead girl.

"I…I feel like…like I didn't get to say goodbye properly. I mean… I buried her. But…" she trails off, unable to express what she's feeling.

"She ain't completely buried right? Like a part of her is still callin ya here." he says finally, and Andrea cant help but be surprised, her head jerking up to look at him. Daryl meets her gaze evenly, and he sighs.

"Feel the same bout Merle," he whispers, so low she can barely hear him. "Feel like, though he's gone, he ain't. Like even though we buried him, he's still sorta haunting me. He wasn't even all that good of a brother, not good like Amy was. But he was still family. Still cared bout him…loved him. And I can't shake the feelin that he's always watchin me, waiting fer me ta fix something so he can rest properly."

Andrea just nods. That's exactly it.

Daryl fixes her with another stare, this one full of something she can't quite figure out, but it makes her relax a bit. He understands, he doesn't think that its dumb, and she feels relief wash over her. Daryl smiles at her, a small weak one, that doesn't look nearly as good on him as a content one does, but it's a smile nonetheless.

"Go solve yer problem. Amy won't rest till ya get through that door," he says knowingly and Andrea shakes her head. She should have known he'd see right through her.

Opening the door is a whole other problem in itself. The guest room…Amy's room. She doesn't know what she'll find in there. She only opened it briefly when they got here, only to check for intruders, and although she hadn't found anything, the pain that had washed over her was enough to have her running back out into the hall, afraid she'd be crippled by it. She's worried that she'll be hit with the grief all over again. Return to that state of depression that had nearly killed her the first time. Only this time, there's no Dale to bring her back, and though she loves Daryl, she's not sure he could convince her the same way Dale always could. That was something she misses. Dales overwhelming humanity. No one nowadays can even come close to matching it. She would end up as a liability to Daryl in that state, and get them both killed, and that's something she can't even think about.

Somehow, she does open the door though, and the pain is there, but not as bad as it was on the first day. She can breathe at least. The window is open, the curtains fluttering in the breeze, because that's how Amy always liked it. She gazes around, taking in the hurriedly made bed, the books on the shelves all bought at flea markets and yard sales, with Amy in mind. Aesop's Fables. The 'Wicked Lovely' Series. A giant tome of international faerie tales. Dragons and mermaids and magic. Amy loved those things. Andrea feels the first tear fall down her cheek. Standing here, it doesn't feel like Amy can be gone. She was so full of life! So good, and sweet and innocent! Her beautiful baby sister, who had loved the beach and Taylor Swift and old black and white movies. Amy who had volunteered at a shelter for abandoned pets, and always gave her change to the homeless people begging in the street. Amy, who had always, her entire life, struggled to catch up to her big sister, who was always 12 years and one step ahead of her. She would have graduated by now, and been studying law at university. Amy wanted to be just like her big sister, her parents had always told everyone proudly.

Andrea cries now. Lets herself be weak, because she's alone now, like she never was with her group or Woodbury in Georgia. She lets the tears pour down her face, and drip onto her jeans, the dampness slowly spreading. And Daryl comes in eventually and holds her there, and she cries on his shoulder as well, staining his shirt dark with her tears. She let her sister die. She should've tried harder, should've saved her, is all she can think, over and over. She let her sister's life snuff out like a candle flame being blown out. She let her turn, and then she shot her and killed her again. Andrea cries until she has no more tears to cry and then she just curls up into a ball and doesn't move. Daryl picks her up and deposits her on the bed, tucks her in. The sheets still smell like Amy, her coconut shampoo, and sunscreen and Andrea wants to cry even more. She falls asleep, drifts off into a dark place where nothing, not her sadness, not Daryl, not even Amy can reach her.

When she wakes up, Daryl is dozing on the end of the bed. There's a water bottle and a bowl of dry cereal on the bedside table. As always, she's struck by how sweet Daryl can be. She downs half the bottle thirstily, and eats the cereal slowly, one piece at a time while she thinks. She feels moderately better, a faint buzzing behind her eyes from crying so much, she thinks. But other than that, she's still intact. Still in one piece. She still feels like she can't leave though, which puzzles and frustrates her all at the same time. She wants to scream, ask Amy what she needs to do to help her rest. But she knows that it won't help, just wake up Daryl and possibly attract some unwanted attention. She stands up, slowly, and looks around the room. Is there something she missed? Her eyes land on the small desk shoved into the corner.

She wanders over, not expecting anything. Amy hardly ever used the desk in the first place, usually sitting at the kitchen table to study when she visited. Her eyes scan the scarred desk top, pen lines pressed into the wood, phone numbers and doodles from a previous life as Andreas hall table. She used to sit there when she first moved out, talking on the phone long distance to her parents and Amy for hours. She runs a hand over the bumpy surface, and her hand brushes some paper out of the way. Andrea catches something, just out of the corner of her eye, and she stills.

There's something stuck to the table top.

She uncovers a small pile of post-it notes, all written in Amy's loose, looping handwriting, and Andrea lets out a slow breath. Of course. Amy had always gone through post-it notes like nobodies business. She always claimed it helped her remember things better when she could see it all in front of her. Amy would write each note, and stick it on the wall and forget about it. She was always leaving notes everywhere, on the bathroom mirror, stuck to Andreas alarm clock, the fridge in the kitchen. Andrea had always thought her sister was a little odd, but who was she to judge? Whatever worked for Amy. It was always such a hassle to clean up though, and more than once Andrea had been left up to the task of peeling each sticky note off the walls of the guest room when Amy left. She had really been on Amy's case about it when they had left the house that day. Who would have thought that it would have been the last time she ever bugged Amy about it? She smiles sadly, and picks up the pile of post-its, peeling them off and sticking them onto the wall as she reads them.

"Remember to pick up milk."

"Andrea, mom called. Call her back."

"Can we have Chinese for dinner?"

"You're almost out of sunscreen"

"Look up Ted Bundy case for class"

The wall slowly fills up with them, fluttering in the breeze from the window, and Andrea feels like she's doing something right, because the tightness in her chest is lessening with every note. All the notes are so mundane, so simple. Despite that, they paint a vivid picture of Amy in her mind. She finds herself laughing and crying at the same time, celebrating and mourning. Remembering things that she had forgotten about. When she gets to the last post-it note, she almost knows what's going to be there. Amy always left her a post-it note like this every time she visited, though Andrea used to think it was overly sentimental, and she would always shake her head at her sister.

" Andrea! I love you. Amy"

This note she keeps, folding it up and tucking it in her back pocket. She stands there watching the papers lift and fall silently.

Daryl already had everything packed and ready to go, so when he wakes up they just go. He doesn't ask Andrea about the post-it notes, knowing that she'll tell him when she's ready. They don't know exactly where they're heading now. Daryl wants to go somewhere with trees and Andrea tells him she doesn't mind where they go, as long as she's with him. They briefly discuss going back to Georgia to check on their friends, but they don't make any concrete decisions, both agreeing to go where ever the road takes them. Andrea buries her key in her front yard, beneath an overgrown rose-bush. She doesn't look behind her as they drive away, her hand finding Daryl's as he drives.

On the guest bedroom wall, fluttering amongst a sea of post-it notes, is a solitary note, in tight, cramped writing.

"Amy. I love you. Andrea."


End file.
